


In Tandem

by grumblebee



Series: A Constellation of Lovers [1]
Category: Turn - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Hair Pulling, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Threesome, poly couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 03:19:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8234261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumblebee/pseuds/grumblebee
Summary: “We are undeniably drawn to those who mirror our own desires. It's not identical, nor should it be, but it runs parallel in the most pleasant of ways” In which George and Martha Washington have a string of boyfriends, for his and her pleasure.





	

“ _ We are undeniably drawn to those who mirror our own desires. It's not identical, nor should it be, but it runs parallel in the most pleasant of ways”  _

_ Martha Washington. _ The name sounded new, exciting, but delightfully worn in. It's not as if Martha hadn't  _ thought _ about the possibility of a life with George, whose company after her husband’s death was most welcome; but now it was  _ real.  _ It was  _ hers.  _

Now, Martha wasn't naive. She knew how things went, how the heat of courtship dies soon after wedlock, and how many husbands take their sweet time returning home at the end of the day. She knew women who changed their perfumes to match their mistresses’, so that the smell of their husband’s shirts wouldn't bring them to tears. She’d heard women talk casually about how a man’s salary is considerably larger, but his wife only sees it after the “Wench Tax”. It's all huffed through the nose and hissed through clenched teeth, all with a saccharine smile. “It is  _ in their nature _ . It is not our misdoing.” 

Yet Martha’s jaw never clenched. Her fingers didn't tremble as the other women’s did during their sewing circles. Her brow refused to furrow at the prospect of George trotting off to woo some barmaid on her watch. No, George was  _ different _ . She knew that from the start.

He was a perfect gentleman; tall, broad, humble and eager to listen. He would visit her, and take time chatting in the garden. It all felt very natural. Martha didn't feel a burning desire for him, and she didn't need to. They fell into place like the cogs in a clock, pressing and turning in harmony, keeping a slow and reliable pace. 

George would take her arm, and walk her round the garden, not so much leading as he was waiting on her every move. The slightest turn of her toe, and that was the direction he took. It was effortless. It was right. 

And then came the looks.

Small, subtle at first, but Martha saw them immediately. A lingering gaze that swept up the stocking clad legs of the fine young men they passed during their strolls. The way he would nip at his lower lip, and turn away quickly. Martha smiled inwardly, George knew he’d been caught. Yet she kept it to herself that the only reason she caught George was because she was taking a peek herself. 

The behavior never went away, and the longer they were together, the more they both stared. It became an unspoken trait they shared. Neither of them talked about it, but Martha did enjoy the way George would look over at her after seeing a fairly handsome young man. Eyes sparkling, with something dark and playful behind them. Martha would smile, affirming that she too liked what she saw. 

The subject was breached shortly before their wedding, when Martha visited Mount Vernon. She had arrived early, and set off to find George. She did find him-- pressed up against a young man from town, hands gripping his hips as he ground up against him. The young man ran, too petrified and ashamed to face the fallout of the affair. George stayed, standing at perfect attention, waiting for Martha to reprimand him.

“Oh, at ease, George.” She said. George obliged, but was too silent for her liking. “I'm not opposed to this. I wouldn't have accepted your proposal if I was. I'd be daft if I thought this wasn't who you were. But is is who  _ we  _ are.” She said, her fingers straightening out George’s crooked lapels. “So next time you find something young and lithe to press up against, be a dear,  _ share _ .” 

George smiled, pulling her in for a kiss. “Of course.”

* * *

  


George made for an excellent husband. Where her poor deceased prior lacked, George excelled. He was strong and gentle, a deeply passionate man who rose above and beyond for her adoration. Each night he crawled into bed, hands skimming up her thigh until she sighed into him and succumbed. The following morning she would untangle herself from him, and rise to start her duties.

The boyfriends came soon after. Martha learned George’s type after only a few encounters. He liked them small; petite little things that mirrored her own stature. He could tower over them, pick them up, cradle them after the deed was done. Martha found it endearing. After all, these boys came and went, but she was always his constant. 

During the time they shared, all three of them, George would put Martha first. Her needs, then the boy’s, and then his. She liked it that way. Being first meant she was wanted, that her claim was staked. Watching George and his lover after was just a treat; one where she could enjoy just how powerful her husband was from someplace other than under him. She would stroke his lovers, kiss them up and down while George pumped into them. And they would thank her. Thank her for being so gentle. Thank George for being so rough. 

* * *

Their little bubble was burst by the war. George was leading an army, leaving Martha to sit alone in their home. Though she and George had agreed to keep up their activities, Martha felt hesitant. She no longer approached the men in town, or felt comfortable engaging in affairs. Without George she felt afraid. Their arrangement worked because George was the muscle that kept their business private. No man would  _ dare _ expose their secrets, not if it meant exchanging blows with him. But her alone? She was just one small woman. A small thing anyone could trample if they were bitter enough. 

She expressed her fears in a letter, and received kind words to soothe the knot in the pit of her stomach.

_ Dearest Martha, _

_ I feel dreadful to have put you in such a position. I cannot indulge in the more handsome aspects of military life knowing my beloved wife sits alone in our home. While I am unable to leave, you are most welcome to visit. It would show the men great morale to see our Nation’s beloved mother amongst them. There is one man in particular who I feel would benefit from such a visit. He is a kind hearted boy, though a bit jealous. However, I suspect upon meeting you he would fall head over heels, and the three of us would have much in common.  _

_ Affectionately yours, _

_ George. _

Martha smiled. Benjamin Tallmadge. The name had come up before. He was a young dragoon from Long Island, employed in George’s service as well as his bed. The two got along famously. She had read her husband’s lengthy descriptions of the man, and indeed he was their type. Lithe, fair, and enthusiastically flexible. She penned back and arranged to visit George at his earliest convenience.

* * *

  


He  _ had a type. _ That was certain the moment she laid eyes on Benjamin. He wasn't as short as her, but stood a head and a half smaller than her George. His eyes were deep and unfathomably blue, sparkling under long sooty lashes. His cheeks and lips were full and pink; rosier than any young girl Martha had seen for years. They tinged red at the sight of her in her half-dressed state, a little embarrassed, mostly jealous. 

“Stay a while” 

Ben did, easing slowly into their cozy situation. Martha liked how his eyes darted to George, pleading silently for approval as she undid his uniform. George said nothing, only watching him with dark hungry eyes as he was stripped and laid out on the bed. They started slow, kissing Ben up and down until he felt bold enough to kiss back. His reservations fell away, and soon Martha found herself in his arms as he kissed her deeply.  _ Very enthusiastic. _

With George between her legs, and Ben on her breast, Martha couldn't help but smile. It was absurd. An unheard of arrangement for husband and wife and yet they fell into it so naturally. She brushed a lock of hair away from Ben’s face; he was young. She was tempted to quip about whether he looked more like a man or a suckling babe on her chest. The moment never came. This was too sweet to ruin with sharp words. 

Ben was  _ greedy _ , that much Martha found humorous. He was young and impatient, hands wandering over George’s flank as he mounted her, looking some something to touch. Martha reached down between Ben’s legs, giving his cock a playful yank; a firm reminder to  _ wait his turn.  _ She was first. She will  _ always _ be first. 

Sated, Martha could fully enjoy the new man George had brought to their bed. He writhed under George’s every touch, pushing up into his palms or his mouth like he'd never been touched before.  _ The little virgin preacher boy, _ that's what Martha remembers reading. George was his everything. She guessed she was too. Martha kissed and sucked at Ben’s ear, working him over only a few minutes before George slid his mouth off his cock.

“Not this one, Martha. He doesn't want to be coddled.” He rumbled. Martha knew that dark timbre. Ben liked it rough. She needed to make sure he left here a little bruised and broken. One hand found its way to Ben’s golden hair, clutching it at the base of the skull. She yanked, and a high wanton cry left him. He  _ really  _ wanted it rough. 

“Just like that” George said, a sly smile working his way across his lips. “And harder.” 

Martha enjoyed it greatly. Every bite, nip and suck was done with the intention to bruise. Ben moaned and begged into every one of them. There was an added benefit to being a Washington’s lover, and that was that both George and Martha together could push buttons the other could not. So when Martha dragged her nails across Ben’s chest, leaving deep scratches in the pale flesh, George looked up at her with newfound adoration. “You'd be able to scratch him too if you didn't bite those nails” she cooed. 

Ben was becoming undone, his mouth open and slack, pouring out a babbling river of sounds. His chest was a mess of claw marks, some leading down his stomach to where his cock still lay heavy upon it. “Get his cock, darling.” George panted, his own hands busy holding Ben by the backs of his knees. Martha obliged, rather liking George’s authority in the bedroom. 

The finales were always Martha’s favorite. She loved watching her husband’s face tense up, his lip caught between his teeth as he rammed into the man below him. The sounds of Ben wailing seemed to be doing him wonders, his own face flushed and glistening with sweat. Martha pumped Ben’s cock a few more times, watching him come across his stomach just as George reached his climax. Those powerful hands gripped tight as he released into Ben, and Martha wondered if the boy would bruise. 

The three collapsed, sticky and breathless atop the fine sheets of their host bed. Ben was nestled in the center, with Martha and George’s arms crossed over his chest in an embrace. George took a moment, catching his breath before looking across Ben at Martha.

“I’m not going to that silly Autumn Ball, Martha. It can't be done.”

“Don't be foolish, dear. Just appear, hob nob, and get a few more favors in Congress.” 

“I have all the favors I need, dear.” 

Martha rested her head on her propped up fist.“You can never be too careful,George-- Oh, Benjamin, sweetheart, are we smothering you?” 

“No m’am.”

“What a good boy.”

“Isn't he?” 

**Author's Note:**

> More benwash and other fics can be found/talked about on my tumblr @grumblebee-trilogy. This was a prompt requested by the great mercury-gray, who captured my imagination with her love of Martha and her "Where My Ladies At?" attitude!
> 
> Feedback is greatly appreciated. Show a little love if you felt things.


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